


Euphoric

by leighwrites



Series: Leigh's Request Time [5]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: I Tried, M/M, Smut, Stozier, happy bottom richie day, i cannot be responsible if you get food poisoning and die, kimmi wanted a meal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighwrites/pseuds/leighwrites
Summary: Set in the We Happy Few Universe so it's probably a good idea to read that first to get the gist. [Let Richie get dicked 2018]





	Euphoric

Stan absolutely hated the sound of the static that had been pulsing in his head since he’d stopped taking _Pennywise_ . When he’d mentioned it to Bill, he’d been assured that it _did_ go away eventually, but it had been three months now and it was _still_ there. It had lessened a considerable amount, more like a dull buzzing now or even a thumping, but it still irritated him.

Today was no different. On the weekends he stayed with Richie. It had been the Trashmouth’s suggestion for him to do this since it gave him a place to relax and be _him_. A place where he didn’t have to fake it. Sometimes Bill and Eddie were there, and sometimes they weren’t.

Tonight was one of the times they _weren’t_ there, and Stan prefered that. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Bill or Eddie. He just hated people seeing him acting like some kind of clingy child because he _hated_ that he was so damn clingy. He hated that whenever Richie so much as _brushed_ him with a hand that he would reach out to lace their fingers together because he _needed_ that.

And if Richie hugged him, Stan would tightened his arms around him, never wanting to let go. Richie indulged every touch. He laughed and called it cute, but Stan just _didn’t get it._

Bill had called him touch starved.

Stan agreed. Every touch had Stan on edge like he was being sucked in reality all over again, and it was no different now, sitting directly in front of Richie on the bed; knees touching and the two of them leaning forward every couple of minutes to connect their mouths with Richie’s arms hanging loosely around Stan’s waist and Stan’s own arms draped over Richie’s shoulders where his fingers could idly toy with the loose curls at the back of his neck.

But it wasn’t enough.

Richie just wasn’t touching him enough.

Stan shifted closer to Richie, one hand spreading out against the back of his neck. He needed to be touching him more. He _depended_ on it. It was like a drug to Stan, and Richie seemed to catch onto that as he broke the kiss for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour, sinking his fingers into the back of Stan’s shirt and shifting to stretch his legs either side of him.

And that _definitely_ allowed Stan to get closer to him, but it still wasn’t enough, so Stan moved his hands as Richie reconnected their mouths, his fingers delicately tracing down Richie’s spine.

And Richie _shivered_. Stan paused, detaching their mouths again as he trailed the hand back up the way it had come down, watching the hitch in Richie’s throat and the way his eyes fluttered slightly behind the lenses of his glasses, pupils blown from what Stan felt was such a simple action.

Stan swallowed, running his fingers back down the shirt under he reached the hem, slipping them inside to touch at the bare skin of Richie’s back; drawing a shaky sigh from him. Stan wondered, briefly, if Richie was just as touch starved as he was.

Stan didn’t resist when Richie moved back and pulled him down with him, forcing him to slam one hand onto the bed next to his head to keep himself from crushing the boy under him.

And then they were kissing again. But this time it was different. Richie’s movements were frantic, almost desperate, and his glasses bumped against Stan’s nose far too many times for his liking but he just couldn’t get enough of him; especially when one of Richie’s hands dipped into his shirt, sliding up against his stomach until they reached his ribcage, drawing a noise from Stan that even _he_ didn’t recognise.

It was like he was _drowning_ in Richie, and he didn’t want it any other way.

The feeling of drowning didn’t ease up when Richie’s other hand planted itself on his hip, his thumb rubbing in a gentle circle against the area. Stan broke the kiss, a pant in his breath as he started down at Richie. His face was flushed, and the thick lenses of his glasses made his blown pupils look almost _predatory_.

But his actions were different. He was cautious and wary, as though he were trying to keep Stan soothed, and when Richie’s free hand settled on Stan’s belt, his brow arched into a silent question. Stan didn’t hesitate to nod his consent, and Richie’s other hand moved from under Stan’s shirt, joining the other to hastily undo the item.

The moment Richie had tugged the belt from it’s loops, Stan tensed as though a sudden revelation had hit him, a look of concern crossing Richie’s face. “Stan? What’s -”

“I don’t know what I’m -”

Any other time, Richie would have laughed and cracked a joke, but this _wasn’t_ a situation that called for it. Instead, Richie placed a hand to Stan’s cheek, running his thumb against the area just under his eye, a calming smile on his face while his other hand slid back into Stan’s shirt, idly pushing it further up his body.

“Just go with your instincts, Stan, and I’ll help you when you need it, okay?” Richie soothed, fingers scraping gently against Stan’s chest.

“Have you -”

“A couple of times.”

“Then why aren’t you -”

Richie hushed him with a kiss. A simple peck. “Because we’re going to do this at _your_ pace and you’re the one completely in control this time. Take a deep breath, relax, and do what comes natural to you.”

Stan swallowed with a nod, taking in a deep calming breath before leaning back down and attaching his mouth back to Richie’s. This kiss was slower than the last one, and it wasn’t long before Stan’s mouth left Richie’s trailing small kisses down his jaw, adding in a few nips once he’d reached his neck.

Stan bit down against the flesh, drawing a gasping moan from Richie which brought a smirk to his mouth. Well _that_ was new, and it was certainly pleasing to instincts to know he’d drawn that kind of reaction from Richie who was usually so composed and always had some kind of disgusting words to spew from his mouth.

He started to nibble against the area, and it seemed to be driving Richie wild. His hands were suddenly on the front of Stan’s jeans, fumbling with the button to try and undo them, but Richie found that it was hard to concentrate on that with the way Stan was nibbling at his neck, trailing lower until he reached the collar of Richie’s shirt.

Stan gripped at the bottom of the shirt as Richie finally managed to pop the button open, exposing Richie’s abdomen to him. Stan brushed his thumbs against Richie’s stomach, fascinated by the way his stomach moved sharply as he drew in a breath. Richie’s skin was softer than he thought it would be, and Stan couldn’t resist trailing a hand up the expanse his stomach, catching the shirt and pushing it further up to expose his chest.

Stan lowered, pressing his mouth to the middle of Richie’s chest before slowly trailing kisses down to his stomach, keeping one hand pressed to Richie’s chest so he could keep some form of contact with him, only stopping when he reached the waistband of his jeans; each kiss setting off a chain reaction of shivers that ran through Richie’s body, one of his hands flying up to sink into Stan’s curls again.

Stan moved his hand down the path his mouth hand taken, nails gently raking against Richie’s skin, and Stan revelled in the way that Richie’s body moved, back arching from the bed at the touch. Finally, after what felt like forever to Richie, Stan’s fingers curled into his jeans, his thumb and index finger making quick work of the button.

He sat upright, simply taking in the sight of Richie for now. They’d barely done anything and he was already panting, skin flushed with one hand now clutching at Stan’s arm and the other balling the sheet up in his clenched hand; glasses somewhat fogged and sitting askew on his face.

And _he’d_ done that.

Reaching out, Stan grabbed the arms of Richie’s glasses, carefully pulling them from his face and folding them shut before reaching over and placing them onto the nightstand. He reached for Richie again, this time grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it further up, a frustrated huff leaving his mouth.

“I want this _off_ , Tozier.”

Richie complied, Stan scooting back as Richie sat up to remove the shirt and toss it to one side on the floor, and Stan took a moment to appreciate the sight of him. Sure he wasn’t built like a complete athlete, but that didn’t matter to Stan. To him, Richie was perfect, and he’d make sure that by the end of the night he knew that too.

Stan didn’t resist when Richie reached out for is shirt, raising his arms so the other could tug it off; tossing it to the floor with his own. And then Richie was touching him and Stan knew _this_ was the touch he’d been needing. The touch was _desperate_ for. Richie’s fingers skirted against his stomach, his ribcage, and finally his chest, and Stan could feel his heart thumping against his ribcage.

No one had ever looked at him the way Richie was right now; with pure _genuine_ adoration and love. Had Richie _always_ looked at him like that? Even when he’d been a medicated mess?

He didn’t have time to dwell on the questions as Richie’s hand slid around the back of his neck, drawing him in for another kiss. Stan returned it eagerly, leaning into Richie who leaned back until he was lying down again, Stan hovering over him with his arms pressed into the sheets either side of him, boxing Richie in under him.

Once again, Stan trailed kisses down Richie’s jaw, neck, and chest, sliding further down his body until he was back at waistband of his jeans, hands grasping at the band before tugging them down, Richie’s hips shifting off the bed to make his job easier for him.

The moment they were off, Stan threw them to the side, a thump sounding as they met the wooden floor with the rest of their already discarded clothing; leaving Richie in just his boxers under him. If Richie were anyone else, he’d probably be embarrassed at the state he was in; a panting mass, dick hard and tenting the front of his boxers.

But he was _Richie_ , and Richie liked the thought that he was on display like this to Stan. That only _Stan_ had seen him like this.

Because Richie was for Stan only, just as Stan was only for him.

Stan tucked his hands into the waistband of the boxers, the cool air nipping at Richie’s skin as he tugged them down, exposing the only area left of Richie that was covered to him, and the moment Stan’s hand slowly wrapped around the hard flesh, Richie’s entire lower half spasmed and bucked into the hand.

Stan tilted his head curiously to one side, watching the way that Richie’s eyes fluttered and rolled back as he closed them, a sharp gasp punching from his mouth as he moved the hand against him in a couple of strokes. All Stan could feel right now was _pride_ that _he_ was the one able to make Richie react like this.

Richie wasn’t prepared for the moment that Stan’s mouth was suddenly around his dick, pulling him into the hot wet cavern; tongue flat to run along the underside as he bobbed his head. And Richie _definitely_ enjoyed the moan that vibrated around him when he gripped at the back of Stan’s head, his hips bucking along to the rhythm of each bob.

It didn’t take Richie long to all apart. The second Stan had hollowed his cheeks and sucked on him, Richie’s control was gone and he shook violently with the orgasm that rolled through him, barely managing a gentle shove to Stan’s head in a warning for him to detach his mouth.

Richie expected nothing less on Stan’s time than for him to sputter; lifting his mouth from Richie who managed to summon his willpower long enough to sit up and grab the wastebasket for Stan spit the cum out. Except Stan didn’t want it. He shook his head, swallowed, and Richie felt like he would die right there.

Richie shoved the wastebasket back onto the floor and dove back in, connecting his mouth with Stan’s and twisting his fingers back into the soft curls which now felt somewhat damp; the taste of his climax still clinging to Stan’s tongue.

_And shit that was so incredibly erotic to Richie._

Richie pulled back with a pant, resting his own damp forehead against Stan’s; one hand resting in the crook of his neck, thumb brushing along Stan’s jaw. “Stan...”

“Mhm?” Stan hummed, his breath mingling into Richie’s.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Stan fell silent, almost tense, and Richie wanted to take back what he said. Maybe Stan just _wasn’t_ ready. Maybe he was still adjusting to reality and he was overwhelming him. “Tell me how?”

Richie felt his heart stop for a moment. “Okay - yeah - so it works pretty much the same as you were taught but… you have to loosen me up a bit first. I have some… stuff to help with that. Just… you just get the rest of your clothes off and I’ll get it.”

If this way any other time, Stan didn’t doubt for a moment he would either be laughing or this would be some kind of mood killer. But Richie was _trying_ . He was trying to make this as good and enjoyable for _Stan_ as possible. As good as it had been for _him_ whenever _he’d_ done it.

So Stan swung his legs over the side of the bed and worked on removing his jeans and boxers while Richie leaned over to the nightstand and opened the top drawer, rummaging around for a moment before retrieving a small bottle. There was a pop as Richie opened it, reaching for Stan with his free hand, curling it around his wrist and bringing Stan’s hand to him where he poured a generous amount of lubricant onto his fingers.

Richie closed the bottle and pressed a quick kiss to Stan’s mouth, pulling him back down with him. The kiss was sloppy, but Stan could feel every emotion pouring into the single action as Richie guided his lubricated hand down to where he needed it to go.

“One at a time.” Richie breathed against his mouth. “You have to… take your time.”

“R-right.” Stan breathed, pressing his index finger carefully into Richie.

Stan’s movements were hesitant at first, not really sure of himself, but the sting of having the finger slowly pushing into him had Richie’s hips bucking as he let out a hiss, legs parting a little more to give Stan better access to the area. Stan began to pump the finger gently in and out of Richie, and once he’d adjusted to the intrusion, Richie found that it felt _pretty damn fucking good_ , his dick starting to harden again between his legs.

Richie let out a whimper as Stan carefully pushed in a second finger, eyes fluttering shut and his teeth sinking into his lower lip. And Stan was so _entranced_ with that. It was a whole new side Richie that Stan enjoyed seeing.

He wanted more of that.

Carefully, Stan slipped a third finger into Richie, moving them in a kind of scissoring motion which had Richie hissing under him at the stretch, his hands digging into the sheets and fisting them against the palms. Stan twisted his hand slightly, drawing a sudden groan from Richie, and then he slowly pulled them out. Richie’s fingers flexed against the blanket, lips parting where soft pants rose from him.

Stan thought he couldn’t look more beautiful than he did right now.  “Now what?”

“N-now you juh-just...” Richie took in a sharp shaky breath, nudging his hand towards the bottle of lubricant that had been discarded on the bed. “Buh-back pocket. Jeans.”

Stan arched a brow at the broken sentences that came out of Richie’s mouth, leaning over the bed to grab his jeans and search the pocket until he found a foil wrapper. Richie sat up suddenly, snatching the wrapper from Stan and ripping it open carefully.

Stan drew in a sharp breath when Richie’s hands were suddenly on him, carefully rolling the condom onto him, and for the first time in years he found himself wishing he wasn’t so damn blind so he could _see_ Stan’s flushed skin and the way his mouth hung open; releasing the soft breathy moans from just simple touches.

_Oh yeah, he was touch starved alright, and Richie would make sure the next they did this he’d make sure that Stan never felt like that again._

“Okay now you just… have to lube up a little more and then... ”

“G-got it.” Stan breathed, reaching over for the bottle with one hand, using the other to nudge Richie onto his back again.

Mimicking Richie’s earlier actions, Stan poured a generous amount of the lube into his hand; bringing it around himself and pumping a few times to spread the liquid. Even with a blurred vision Richie could see _that_ , and damn it was _hot_.

“Ch-christ Stan just get down here and fuck me already.”

And _shit_ if _that_ didn’t get Stan back to leaning over Richie, one hand wrapping around himself while his other arm pressed into the sheets next to Richie’s head. Richie’s hand curled around Stan’s bicep, his thumb stroking in a comforting circle; easing Stan’s nerves as he shifted forward slowly, aligning himself completely pushing the head slowly through the ring of muscle.

The sting was definitely sharper than Stan sticking three fingers into him, and Richie couldn’t stop the hiss that punched from his throat, fingers digging into Stan’s arm. Stan lowered his head, resting it against Richie’s shoulder for a moment where the pants of breath hit at his collarbone, sinking further into him as he settled more comfortably between Richie’s legs.

For a moment, neither of them moved, Stan trying to get used to the feeling of Richie all around him while Richie accommodated to the stretch of Stan inside of him. Stan shifted his weight, and then he was moving, and Richie found himself suddenly experiencing all kinds of different sensations at once.

The sting of the stretch was still there, somewhat painful, but it slowly faded as Richie adjusted, unable to silence the groan that escaped his mouth. The sound had an effect on Stan he didn’t think was possible, his hips snapping forward in a sharp thrust that had Richie’s body jerk on the bed.

“Sh-shit, sorry.”

“D-don’t be.” Richie breathed. “That was… _fuck._ ”

Stan picked up is pace accordingly, delivering sharp quick thrusts that had Richie moaning out “fuck” or “Stan” every time he slammed against his prostate. Richie hiked a leg up around Stan’s waist, drawing him closer and deeper.

“Shit… Stan I...” Richie’s free hand groped around the bed, searching, and Stan seemed to understand what he needed.

Stan moved, almost on a kind of auto-pilot, reaching for Richie’s hand with his own and threading their fingers together; pinning the hand to the bed next to Richie’s head. Leaning down, he connected their mouths again in an almost painfully slow kiss.

A particularly sharp angled thrust had Richie crying out, back arching as climax hit; leg tightening around Stan where he could feel the muscle in Richie’s thigh spasming against him.

With a couple more thrusts, Stan felt a coil tightening in the pit of his stomach, a gasp rolling from Richie’s mouth at the feel of Stan throbbing inside of him. Richie’s hand tightened against Stan’s, anchoring him as he hit his own orgasm, his face buried into Richie’s neck and his body trembling.

Releasing Stan’s bicep from his hold, Richie raised the hand to Stan’s sweat curls, running them carefully through his hair while drinking in the sounds of the gasps that he could hear from the many sensations coursing through him.

Richie didn’t stop soothing Stan with the soft strokes through his hair even when their breathing had returned to normal. Stan eventually shifted, lifting his head to offer Richie a quick peck on the lips which he was all too happy to respond to.

Pulling back, Stan lifted some of his weight from Richie, reaching over to grab the glasses from the nightstand with his free hand, unfolding them and returning them to Richie’s face. “Shit that was -”

“Amazing.” Richie breathed, finally allowing his leg to fall from Stan’s waist. He stared up at Stan, one hand still tangled into the back of his hair, and he just couldn’t stop himself from speaking. “Fuck, I love you.”

A look of confusion crossed Stan’s face, his body tense. “Richie -”

Richie shook his head, an understanding smile coming to his face. “I get it Stan. You’re still not adjusted to being back in reality with the rest of us. It’s okay. You don’t have to say it.” But he knew Stan did just from every little action he made even if he didn’t realise it himself. “I just had to tell you.”

Stan nodded, aware of the odd warmth that was spreading in his chest; something he couldn’t place. It vaguely reminded him of when he’d been medicated all the time except... it didn’t feel fake or forced.

It was a genuine happiness and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

“There you are.” Richie said, the smile widening on his face. Stan loved that smile. It was so _real_. “Now how about we get you out of my ass and into a shower?”

Stan groaned. “ _Oh my god._ You just _had_ to ruin it didn’t you?”


End file.
